


Outcast

by Albion19



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Love/Hate, UST, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-02-12 17:40:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2118858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Albion19/pseuds/Albion19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding herself in Neverland Wendy runs for her life and tries to escape but eventually finds herself with a life she and Peter never planned for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First 3 chapters can be read as standalone but there will be a more concise story onwards. Initially written for darling pan ship week.

The spear slips in her hands, which she holds in a white knuckle grip. Sweat and blood trickle and merge and she wants to scream and jump down the ravine into the river but she cannot move. They have her surrounded, their swords and arrows jabbing and thrusting and she smacks them away when they get too close. They are teasing her, grins stretching their grubby, cruel faces. This is all a game to them and only in Neverland would hunting and murder be nothing but an adventure to pass the time.

Wendy cranes back, judging the drop to the surging river below when one of the boys urges her to jump and soon the chant is taken up and the jungle is echoing with their cries and the screams of apes and birds.

“JUMP! JUMP! JUMP!”

It was an escape, now it’s defeat. Wendy glares back at them, hair a sweaty wild cloud around her head and she wants to cry, she wants to go home, to wake up from this terrible nightmare but she can’t.

_Maybe I will, maybe when I jump I’ll wake up in my bed. This is not real, it can’t be real…_

She turns her back to cheers and claps and leans over the edge of the cliff, arms spread wide and to the boys she looks like a ghost already. One of the boys cocks an arrow and draws the string back, the point aimed for her back, for her heart. It may be an act of cruelty or a show of mercy but death by arrow would be swifter then what the water would give her.

She does not see, just the water rushing away towards the sea and where the current may take her. Maybe she’ll wash up on a beach in England, even half way around the world like Australia would be a blessing. Anywhere but here. Wendy looks at the sullen grey clouds that darken into an angry purple and then tilts over the edge.

Two things happen simultaneously. The tall boy releases his arrow and a hand roughly wraps around her arm, stopping her from falling. Wendy jerks back with a gasp, swinging around to see an arrow clutched in Pan’s hand. It was seconds from hitting her but he caught it. His fingers dig into her upper arm, a bruising grip that will leave marks but he does not stare at her, only at the Lost Boys. Where once they had been laughing and wild now they lower their heads and sink into the shadows, the eldest ones pulling the youngest, those who don’t know any better, away. They are now alone.

“You tricked them, you tricked me…” Pan muses, still not letting go of her. Wendy stares between him and the arrow he still holds.

“You saved me?”

He tilts his head and make a soft scoffing noise before throwing the arrow away. “You said you knew how to fight,” he says in annoyance and then suddenly grins. “Playing with wooden swords and rubber arrows doesn’t  _quite_  cover it!”

“They were just stories. I – I had to say something, I didn’t want to look weak,” she says, shaking with shock and adrenaline. She wants to laugh because she is and they all know it now.

“But you lied and we all swallowed it. You’re very good,” he admits and brushes his thumb across her bottom lip. “But words won’t stop an arrow or a blade.” He pulls his hand away, leaving Wendy to blink as her heart pounds and her stomach tightens.

“I want to go home,” she says and he gives her a long suffering look. She has said it so many times now that the words don’t even have any meaning. They are empty. She inhales a breath, trying to get a grip on her emotions and lifts her chin. “I won’t die here, I won’t be teased and tormented by you or anyone else.  I’ll join the pirates if I have to.”

Pan laughs and motions towards the sea with a flourish. “Please be my guest! Hook and Smee will show you every courtesy but the rest? They’re lonely, stir crazy and haven’t seen a woman in years. Tink’s only safe because they’re scared of her. You go there and you’ll be trading one chase for another.”

Wendy felt sick. He is right but she is desperate. “Oh this is impossible! Why did you ever bring me to this dreadful place?!”

“I told you it was an accident. The shadow was meant to bring one of your brothers but I got  _you_  instead. It’s not my fault you’re here during Thinning Out Time.”

Thinning Out Time. Over the centuries Peter Pan has collected a number of boys to populate his island. They are soldiers, loyal followers and all degenerates. The problem is none of them grow old, none leave and so there comes a point where there are just too many on the island. When this happens passions run high, there is a risk of mutiny and rebellion so Pan devised a cruel but effective game to thin out his ranks. Every two hundred years a third of his Lost Boys turn on each other and kill until the victorious group stands as the winner.

It is Darwinism in brutal action: the weak die and the strong survive.

“Felix clearly has the strongest group, the most loyal. They protect each other. I just need to win him over and be accepted,” Wendy muses and Pan smiles. It is different from his usual smirk, it’s soft and almost innocent and Wendy sees it and starts to consider.

 _Why win Felix over when you I can have you? You saved me…_ The thought makes her flush with heat but not wholly from embarrassment. She had been completely captured by him at first sight but now that feeling is polluted with fear and distrust. He is the leader and he is a hundred times more dangerous than any of them.

“Felix doesn’t take on those who can’t fight.”

“Then I’ll have to learn,” Wendy replies firmly and expects a derisive response but he stares at her thoughtfully.

“Yes, I think you’ll have to. You may not think much of me but I detest uneven odds. Even our youngest members can wield a sword.”

He moves up to her, eyes flicking up and down and she stares straight ahead, not daring to look into his eyes. Finally he takes her arm and stretches it out and then places a long stick in her hand. It’s heavy and after thirty seconds her arm starts to shake with the strain of keeping it up. She lowers it with a grimace and he rolls his eyes. He moves close, too close and she cannot tear her gaze away.

“Why don’t we make this interesting? I’ve never had a girl on the island, and never one that wanted to go home so much. I propose a wager.”

“What?” she doesn’t like the sound of that or the smirk curling his lip.

“I’ll let you leave, I give you my word, but only if you take out one of the boys. I’ll even teach you to fight myself,” he rocks on his heels, grinning but Wendy blinks.

“Take out?”

“Do you want me to be more specific?”

“No! I – I can’t kill anyone! I can’t –”

“That’s the only way you’re getting home. You know they’ll be coming after you, you’re the first target on everyone’s list. You kill this specific boy and I’ll make sure you’re untouchable,” he says seriously as tears appear in Wendy’s eyes.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s either them or you. You’re on my island, you play the game or you don’t play at all.”

“I hate you,” she utters gutturally and he smiles. She stiffens when he brushes the back of his fingers across her cheek, wiping a spec of blood away and she grips the stick tightly in her hands.

“Not as much as you could,” he whispers, his fingers lingering by her face and there is a tense, strange pause until he blinks and smirks, taking a step back. Wondering what is happening Wendy watches him pick up a stick and stand in a fighting position, feet spread and body upright and strong.

“I can’t do this…what if I fail?”

“Then you’ll be dead. If you don’t kill him but survive by some miracle you can stay on the island like Tink does, unbothered. I’ll even give you a tree house.”

“How exciting,” she drawls and he full on grins and her stomach flips over in a horribly giddy way. “I can survive that time without killing anyone.”

“But you’ll never get home.”

“We’ll see,” she mutters darkly and lifts the stick, trying to copy his stance. “I’ll defend myself and I won’t hold back, but that’s it.”

“I like your optimism Darling. It’s mad but I like it. Right then, shall we begin?”

As he comes forward Wendy braces herself for the impact and as the stick is ripped out of her hands she wonders what boy he wants her to kill. She wonders what would happen if the boy ends up being the one in front of her.


	2. Chapter 2

Mary Darling, a suffragette and forward thinking woman, was by all appearance a gracious, polite mother and wife who always made the most of a Thursday afternoon when she had guests over. Few were aware that she walked with a wooden baton hidden in her skirts.

From the age of eight until she was nine Wendy had taken classes in the art of self-defence with her mother, which the papers at the time had come to wittily label  _suffrajitsu_. She had come to a point where she could comfortably throw someone double her weight over her shoulder. However when that person more often than not became John Darling and the result was him weeping on the nursery floor all classes had been suspended.

That had been years ago and like the ballet and gymnastics she had also partaken in it soon faded from her mind and the joy of books and storytelling took up residence instead and never left.

“They’ll likely come at you from behind,” Peter says as she blows curls away from her hot face irritably.

“Yes I rather think so, seeing as they chase me like a dog after a cat,” she remarks snidely as he smirks. She is a sweaty mess while he has not even a hair out of place. It is maddening. Grumbling she thrusts her sword into the earth and gathers her hair up, twisting it into a messy bun before securing it the best she can with a pair of knitting needles she had been informed belonged to a pirate called Smee. A knitting pirate, she’d laugh if she could.

Hair off her neck and face she feels a little better but her heavy nightgown still clings to her skin. She peels the fabric off her stomach, looks up and sees that Peter is standing very still and watching her.

“Yes?” her stomach rolls over but she speaks in a hard tone.

He smirks again, never taking his eyes off her and lifts his sword. “Don’t lower your weapon.”

“Oh what’s the point?! I can’t use the blasted thing! I’m not strong enough to pull back the bow to fire an arrow, I can’t grip a spear tight enough to keep hold of it!” she cries out, pulling the sword free from the ground and begins to whack it furiously at bamboo leaves. Back to him she does not hear him approach until his breath plays against the back of her neck and by that point it is too late. His arm wraps around her throat, his body pressing against hers, and she’s so shocked that the sword slips from her hand.

“You’re dead Darling. Never turn your back, don’t you know anything?” he whispers into her ear as she claws at his arm. It is not a true chokehold but it is the closest he has ever been. She feels his belt buckle scrap against her back as he leans down further, his other hand brushing against her hip before gripping one of her wrists.

“Get off me!” she yells, hating the way he laughs against her back, the way his heat penetrates her.

“Make me,” he breathes and as she feels the faint graze of his teeth against her ear she reacts without thinking. Wendy is almost a foot shorter then Peter, and there are others who are even taller, but as he has her pined against him Wendy suddenly slams back, making him unbalance and as he’s caught off guard she grips his arm, bends low and flips him over her back. Peter rolls onto the grass and is so shocked that when Wendy snatches his short blade from the sheath on his belt he doesn’t react.

She runs, more shocked than Peter at her actions. She thought she had forgotten everything she had learnt but it’s still there, dormant until provoked awake. As she swats leaves out of her way she hears his laughter echoing through the trees, a sound that is at once far away and just behind her. Gasping she turns, expecting to see him but there is no one there. She slams into his chest and propels them forward onto the ground.

“Where on earth did you learn that? Will you teach  _me_?” Peter asks, grinning below her. Wendy, panting and body pounding with adrenaline, fumbles for his stolen knife but he grabs her wrist and twists sharply. She drops the weapon with a cry and all the fight goes down with it.

“Please, I just want to  _go_. I want my mum,” she moans and slumps, her forehead against his shoulder. She does not see the snarl on his face that soon fades as he stares at the side of her face.

“Kill him, kill Rufio and you’ll see her again…” he whispers and she lifts her head. He has said it before but this is the first time that his voice wavers, that he sounds unconvincing.

“Promise me,” she says, hands either side of his head and he opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He strains up and for a moment, one timeless breath of a second, she thinks he is going to kiss her, his eyes on her parting lips and she is dismayed at the writhing want inside. He inhales, like a waking person and frowns, licking his lips and his eyes flick over her face before he gives her a horrible smirk and roughly pushes her off him.

“I take no part in this Wendy, I treat each faction fairly. You have an unfair disadvantage so I’m just evening out the odds. That’s all this is. I make no promises to them so why should you be any different?”

“But I am! I have no place here, you know it but you insist on keeping me! This is not a game, I’m a person with a family and a life! I’m not like those boys, their hearts and minds are rotten and I think you did that to them. You  _won’t_  do that to me. You  _can’t_ because even though I’m scared my will is strong!”

Peter’s mouth tightens before he picks up his blade and sheaths it with a sharp, hard movement. Now on her knees Wendy watches him walk away, knowing that even if she wins she’s still lost. He won’t promise because he knows he won’t keep it. He wants her and he’ll grow to hate her for it. An overwhelming need for her mother crashes over her and Wendy cries. She is sixteen, fighting for her life and all she wants is someone to trust.

In time she finds that in the most unlikely place.

*

“You only have one shot, use it wisely,” Hook advises grimly as he hands over the small phial attached to a cord. Black, inky liquid sloshes thickly inside as Wendy tips it.

“What is it?”

“Some of the deadliest poison found in any realm.  It has taken me many years to gather the ingredients,” Hook explains as Wendy places the cord over her head and slips the phial under her nightgown. She knows a little of his history but Tink had told her of his long revenge against a monster who killed the woman he loved. Like her his choice of weapon is poison. Peter has been teaching her to fight, with arrow and sword, but the deadliest attack is the one you don’t see coming.

“Will – will it work?” she doesn’t want her voice to waver but she can’t help it. Hook takes her stutter for fear and lifts her chin with the curve of his hook.

“Not even Pan can escape its effects. If he manages to survive he’ll wish he was dead. Tis terrible stuff,” he says with a grin and Wendy looks away. Hook has been wanting to kill Pan for decades but could never get close enough but now he has a chance.

“Just pour it into his sleeping tonic, get back to your ship and then we’ll be free,” Wendy recites and grips the bottle through the fabric of her nightgown, trying to breathe slowly. Hook sighs. Sometimes he reminds her of Pan, other times her father. Or maybe that’s just a projection, a growing need for protection.

“Be brave Miss Darling. You’ve got this far without falling apart, only a little further. If I could take your place I would, but he trusts you.”

 _He more than trusts me_ , she thinks and wants to lock the thought away in some dark place but it flutters around her mind like a freed bird. Since coming to the island he has shifted from indifference, cruelty to a grudging acceptance that has now transformed into a barely concealed need. Wendy does not want to kill him because she fears he may do her harm, she wants to take such drastic actions because he will never let her go. He says he will let her leave if she kills Rufio but as the days bleed into each other this seems more and more unlikely. Not even death will come between them if he has his way.

And it is getting harder to resist the pull of such a deathless existence, even if that life could make her as twisted and corrupted as Pan.

*

Sleep is the only time when a truce is called and none dare attack. Wendy does not care about truces or rules, not anymore. She tiptoes between sleeping boys, trying not to wake them but she resists giving a few a vicious kick. Come morning they will be hunting her again. As she passes a dark haired boy near to Felix she pauses. Rufio. Does he know he has a mark over his head? Is he aware of the potential danger she poses to him? They had spoken briefly and she was given the impression of an energetic, arrogant but bright young man. He is a dark mirror image of Peter and she wonders if this is why Peter wants him dead.

Wendy fingers the phial of poison through her nightgown, staring at his open mouth. How easy it would be to pour a few drops into his mouth and take him out before he finds out the threat she could pose to him. He will doggedly pursue her, chase her through the jungle until he traps her and kills her, she knows he will.

As the first soft wails fill the night air Wendy rouses and makes herself walk on. Killing Rufio will just destroy a symptom, not the disease. Take Pan out and she will not be the only one freed.

The glass phial burns against her skin as she ascends Peter’s treehouse. She find him half asleep on his makeshift throne and any hopes that she could just deliver the poison while he sleeps is dashed. Tinkerbell turns as she enters, a pestle and mortar in her hands and she nods once at the sight of her. Pan smiles, not opening his eyes.

“Hello bird. Trouble sleeping?”

“Yes actually,” Wendy says and he opens his eyes. It is not a lie, since coming to the island she has only been able to catch bare scraps of sleep, too anxious for anything worthwhile. She feels frazzled.

“I have poppy seeds here if you need some?” Tink offers graciously and Wendy smiles, going to her. As she peers at the pink, glittering dust Peter gets to his feet and gazes fixedly at Wendy. She tries to meet his gaze but she feels like she is pulsing with guilt and cannot sustain eye contact. The corner of Peter’s lips curl and he takes the pestle and mortar from Tink.

“You can wait outside,” he orders softly, not looking at the fairy who sneers faintly at being dismissed so. As she leaves Pan passes the bowl to Wendy who stands there holding it, not sure what is going on.

“Do – do you want me to finish?”

“Yes,” he says and sits back down, lounging on his throne. His hooded gaze never leaves her as she sets the mortar down and begins to grind the seeds. “It’s been a week and you’re still alive. I wanted to congratulate you on your success. You wouldn’t have lasted a day without my help,” he adds arrogantly.

Back to him Wendy snarls as she grinds the seeds into the finest powder, imagining that it’s his smug face. “I wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t dragged me into this hell.”

“Oh it might seem a bit gloomy at the moment but trust me Neverland is a dream. Like I said you just got here at the wrong time,” he says and then stifles a yawn. It is an odd sound, so human and normal that her hand stills and she turns to look. His eyes are closed, his head titled against the side of the throne and she cannot look away.

She doesn’t know how long she stares at him but when he starts to frown in his sleep, mouth parting as he breathes faster, she turns back quickly. Heart galloping Wendy pulls out the phial, uncorks it and pours the entire contents into a cup. A bowl of warm, freshly made coca lies on the table and she pours it into the cup, followed by milk and then finally the poppy seeds. She stirs quickly, her hands shaking and is about to make herself a cup to avoid suspicion when she hears a ragged intake of breath behind her.

Peter’s hands had rested limp on the arms of the throne but now they grip tightly, his fingernails clawing at the wood. Wendy stills, licking her lips and for a second she feels embarrassed. Witnessing someone having a nightmare, being privy to such vulnerability makes her feel terribly voyeuristic but soon that feeling is overwhelmed by curiosity. Cup in hand she moves softly to him as he begins to mutter and she thinks she hears the word  _mother_  but she cannot be sure. Long, thick eyelashes flutter as his eyes rove under their lids and Wendy leans closer, trying to hear more. As minuscule beads of water appear at the edges of his eyes Wendy feels a swoop of traitorous pity and the burgeoning adoration she had ruthlessly but painfully smothered begins to wake. She is so close now that her hair brushes against his throat, tickling and his eyes gently open. Bright green eyes, like the purest jade, flash with confusion before they shift to shame and then quickly anger.

“What are you doing?” he demands and Wendy leans back, inhaling sharply.

“You – you were having a dream,” she stutters and moves back as he gets to his feet.

“I don’t have dreams, not anymore,” he says and then spots the cup still clenched in her hand. Wendy’s heart leaps as he grips it and pulls but Wendy’s fingers have locked around it in a death grip. He pulls again, beginning to smile, thinking it a game and she tries to smile as her fingers suddenly grow slack and he pulls the cup away.

“It – it’s chocolate,” she says in a voice that is too strangled and he cocks an eyebrow, impressed.

“Tink must be having a good day, she’s hasn’t made me this since…well, not for a very long time,” he says and then brings the cup to his mouth. Her body surges forward involuntarily, her face stricken and he pauses, the poison drink almost touching his lips. He looks down at the cup and then back up at her face, his gaze know deeply calculating until suddenly his face becomes deathly still. His green eyes are ice and he only open his lips to sigh softly.

“Peter I…” she tries to explain, all murderous plots and dark thoughts gone. Her mind is blasted with an aching morality, a guilt so sharp it bleeds through her like fire. The coldness melts off his face and he tilts his head and then smirks.

“So you like to play games? Me too,” he says softly, now very close and she cranes up to stare into his face. If she looks away something terrible will happen. His eyes flick over her head and he calls out. “Tink, come back in please.”

Her stomach plummets as the fallen fairy comes up to them warily, her eyes darting around. “What is it?”

Pan smiles and lifts the cup. “Drink,” he says simply, offering the cup to her and Tink takes it without preamble. “Tink always tastes what she makes for me, don’t you? Can’t trust  _anyone_  these days,” he jokes, eyes burning.

“No!” Wendy yells and knocks the poison out of her hands. The warm chocolate spills over the floor and fills the air with its aroma. Tink stumbles back as Wendy points at the door. “Go! Go!” she yells and rounds on Pan. “This has nothing to do with her!”

Pan, still smiling, looks between them before he finally dismisses Tink again with a lazy wave of his hand. Wendy watches her go, heart hammering with fear and relief but she only has a moments respite as she looks back at Pan and gasps. Inches away he backs her up, Wendy scrabbling to stay up right before the back of her legs slam into the table behind.

“Do you have any idea how many people have tried to kill me? Do you think you’re the first? I’m older than you can imagine, done things that will turn your hair white so can you envisage what I did to those fools? Can you imagine what I will do to  _you_?”

Fear bolts through her, a dread the likes of which she has never felt but even as she shakes a deeper, fiercer feeling boils through her blood and she thrusts her face into his. “You’re the fool to think I wouldn’t try!  _I fooled you!_  I will fight you every  _single second_  I am here, I will make your life  _hell_  and laugh in your face! I don’t care if you kill me! If it’s not you it’ll be someone else! I won’t play your games and I won’t kill anyone you monster! I  _hate_  you! I  _hate_  you! I  _hate_  – ”

Her screams are silenced as he suddenly takes her face in his hands and kisses her roughly. Their teeth clash, their lips part and she inhales one gasp of shock before his tongue thrusts into her mouth and she tastes him. A scream of crazed frustration builds in the back of her throat as her hands grip and claw at his shoulders, rip at his hair as her tongue pushes against his. The kiss grows frenzied as they push and pull at each other, his body pressing hard against hers, and a painful jolt of pleasure passes through her before he suddenly pulls away and staggers back.

Mouth sore and tingling with use Wendy pants, gets to her feet and takes one look at his flushed, wild face before she runs for the door and doesn’t look back.


	3. Chapter 3

The flowers that grow from the treetops are found in no other realm. When the skies are clear and the stars shine they unfurl their petals and the nectar soaks up the starlight. This is how pixie dust is made. 

But come morning, when the clouds and the mists blot out the sky, the dust fades from a vibrant green to a dark dead ash. The belief has been soaked from it and thus it’s magic. It is by chance that Wendy finds some, climbing higher and higher to escape the pursuit of the Lost Boys. The dust still retains some of its potency as her fingers dig into the closed cup of the flower but when she manages to pour some into the empty phial that had held poison it fades to grey.

Since her failed poisoning attempt she sticks either to the treetops or the coast, watching the pirate ship roll in the waves. She has not seen a glimpse of Peter and all training sessions have been suspended. Not that she is foolish enough to approach him, remembering the look on his face as she ran from the treehouse. It had been a look of utter contempt and it makes her heart shrivel up thinking about it.

“I have to go, I have to go  _now_ ,” she whispers, crouched in the thick canopy of a tree and her eyes never stray from the pirate ship. She knows that the  _Jolly Roger_ sometimes leaves for other realms, all under Peter’s orders and she had heard that the time for another journey is very close. Why the captain is not dead for his part in the assassination plot she could not guess. Maybe Peter has no clue but then Hook has a popular affinity for poisons and he has attempted to take Peter’s life before using similar means.

_Forget about Hook, why am I still breathing?_   
  


Peter knows where she is, he is aware of every fall of grain and breath of air across the seas. He could come for her but he seems to be simply ignoring her. Maybe that will work in her favour, maybe he hates her enough to let her go.

Wendy, fighting for her life and freedom, descends the tree with a will to escape but it is not wholly out of fear. The kiss in the treehouse lingers constantly in her mind and sometimes the feel of his lips and body will overcome her in vivid detail. It should disgust her, it should fire her to deny him even more but it is the opposite.

Her mind is made up but her heart aches for something it cannot withstand.

*

The bowels of the  _Jolly Roger_  slosh with water and smells of fish, salt and the musty aroma of rotting wood. After a few hours Wendy has grown accustomed to it but the heave of the vessel still makes her stomach turn over.

She had swam from the shadowed grove, under the cover of night. Thanks to her father for making her take swimming lessons since infancy she is a strong swimmer but by the time she pulled herself over the top her muscles were seizing and her legs belonging to a lamb. The deck deserted she hid herself away and now waits with batted breath.

Every creak, every groan and muffled voice makes her tense and grow still but no one comes for her. Peter must know where she is by now, he probably knew the moment she sank into the sea but still he ignores her. She should be jumping for joy but the growing tension at his lack of appearance turns sour. Does she honestly mean so little to him?

When she first came to the island and met Peter an instant and shockingly intense affection had burned inside her with a constant heat and it seemed to her that warmth was reflected back by Peter. But as the truth of the island and its leader made itself known the affection had tuned sharp and cruel and soon she started to doubt it was even there. Maybe she only saw what she wanted and he was happy to play along. Everything is a game to Peter but what happened in the treehouse is no game, she knows that.

With that kiss it stopped being fun.

Thoughts filling her mind like smoke she gasps as the ship jerks to the side and begins to turn, gruff yells of the pirates heard above. Wendy grips a rope connected to the wall, staring up as shafts of light filter down to her hiding place but she is too excited to move into the shadows. Tingling with success and an aching hurt she clings onto the rope and then begins to scream as the ship crests a deep wave and then plummets down at sickening speeds. Almost vertical now Wendy squeezes her eyes shut and holds on for dear life and after an eternity of being jostled the ship flies into the air and then smacks back onto the waves again. Wendy’s fingers rip away from the rope and she falls, bumping her head on the side of a crate she succumbs to darkness.

*

The first thing she becomes aware of is the light. The lower deck had been filled with shadows but now sunlight pours from an open door and as she lifts her aching head a man appears. He waves a woolly hat at his face and with the other hand settles down a small crate that rattles. Wine or rum perhaps.

Wendy sits up with a groan, hand going to her head. Half dried blood comes away on her fingertips and she grimaces. Smee sighs and takes a seat on one of the crates and Wendy tries not to move but as he shakes his head he spots her. They stare at each other for a few seconds before Smee jumps to his feet.

“A stowaway!”

Wendy does not respond. Ignoring her woozy head she gets to her feet and rushes for the open door. Sunlight bursts around her and she throws up a hand, momentarily dazzled by the intense glare. She blinks sunspots away and sees that the ship is docked at a harbour and an old dusty looking port sprawls out before her, white and gold in the sunlight. Staring up at the blue sky the reality of her escape hits her and she laughs.

“Captain!” Smee yells, looking upwards and Wendy follows his gaze. Standing high up in the crow’s nest is Hook with a spyglass up to his face. At the sound he looks down and immediately sees Wendy, who pleads with him silently until she clasps her hands together as his jaw clenches and he begins to shake his head. Just when she thinks she’s going to be dragged back in chains Hook puts the small telescope back up to his eye, as if he had not seen her.

“Thank you, thank you,” she whispers, eyeing a confused Smee before she runs down the gangplank, passing surprised pirates and then disappears into the crowded streets of Agrabah. It’s not England, it’s not even Earth but it’s not the island and at the moment that’s the only thing that matters.

 

*

 

As the sun begins to set and the pirate ship is swallowed again by a magic whirlpool Wendy’s feet drags in the dust. She is hungry, thirsty and has no idea what anyone is saying. She stands on the corner of a plaza and watches as a small gang of urchins steal bread from a cart and are chased off, trailing laughter and crumbs behind them. Peter had taught the Lost Boys how to steal, the art of misdirection and manipulation but she had been too scandalised at the time to partake. Now she wishes she had not been so principled.

Tired and starting to wish she had never boarded the ship she drifts into a market, an alley covered in vines and strung with ribbons and paper lanterns. As dark descends the city begins to shine and twinkle, blazing with colour that the midday sun had sucked the vibrancy out of. It is a beautiful place but she is a stranger with nowhere to go and nowhere to sleep.

Fighting the need to cry and a rising panic she focuses on each stall. Some sell food, drink and garments but it seems the colourful alleyway is the city’s designated apothecary. As she passes a small table glittering with bottles, jars and dried herbs she freezes and looks back. In a small wicker basket beans of many colours glitter in the candlelight. Wendy licks her lips, hardly daring to believe.

“Portal beans?”

“Yes,” an old lady answers and Wendy looks up, startled. The owner smiles, eyeing her up and down and then motions to the beans. Wendy shakes her head, slumping.

“I haven’t got any money,” she speaks weakly, not wanting to admit how much trouble she is in. What on earth was she thinking? She is free from Neverland but how is she expected to get back to London? As tears begin to rim her eyes she leans down, not wanting the woman to see. As she does the phial of inert pixie dust swings forward on its cord and the woman gasps and grabs for it.

“What is this?”

“It – it’s pixie dust,” Wendy answers, shocked. The woman appears amazed. “It’s inert.”

“Is it?” she asks and Wendy looks down and her mouth falls open. Within the slim bottle dust glimmers and glows with an intense emerald green. Wendy, hardly believing her luck, pulls the cord over her head and grips the dust tightly.

“What will you give me for it?”

The woman motions at her entire table and laughs. “It is priceless! Take what you need,” she says and Wendy picks up a bean and then picks up other items, thinking of the food and drinks she can barter for. She thanks the woman profusely who is grinning from ear to ear, as if Wendy had not just made her day but entire year. Maybe she has.

*

Now well fed and with shoes on her feet Wendy takes advantage of the festive night, stopping to listen to music and the performance of magicians. Magic runs through the streets of Agrabah as steadily as blood through her veins. After the terror of Neverland, after the  _disappointment_ , she deserves to have a truly magic night before going home. As a huge moon rises and bathes couples dancing in a square Wendy leans against the side of a building, watching them wistfully and her mind strays to Peter but she quickly thinks of something else.

She is free, she is safe. If he wanted to stop her he could at any point but he did not. It is decided then, he does not care for her and never has. She will go back to London, try to explain her disappearance to her parents and friends as best she can and then put Neverland and Pan behind her like a bad dream. In time he will fade and the ache in her heart along with him.

“Never turn your back, didn’t I teach you anything?”

Wendy just has time to gasp before she is dragged back and pulled into an abandoned building. Slammed against a wall she lifts her arms to defend herself when he’s on her. “Peter!”

“Found you,” he breathes, as if her escape has been nothing more than a long game of hide and seek. Pressing her up against the wall Peter grins, hands reaching down for her wrists before she can attack him.

“No! I won’t go back! Why are you doing this?” she cries out, struggling to get away but he pins her harder, body flush to hers.

“Because it’s fun,” he flashes her another grin but his eyes are oddly dark. “You see I wanted you to believe you got away.”

“You bastard! I thought you wanted me gone. I thought you hated me!” she says, recalling the way he looked at her after the kiss. Peter’s eyes flick down and he tilts his head before meeting her gaze again.

“I do,” he admits softly and her heart breaks. He smirks weakly. “Though I have enemies I’ve never hated anyone…until you,” he grits out and his eyes flash and she tries not to cry. “You’re like a disease. Since you came to the island you’ve been quietly polluting my mind and I can’t stop thinking about you. I’d call you a witch but you’re not that interesting. I dream about you in place of nightmares but there’s no difference, not really. I’ve never questioned myself but I actually considered stopping the thinning out altogether so you’d be safe. YOU! I don’t feel, I don’t feel for anything or anyone! I let you go! I tried to ignore you but I can’t! I  _hate_  the way you make me _weak!”_

He shakes with rage and pent up emotions and Wendy gasps at his confession. Her heart was bleeding but now she sees the disguised truth and it’s a sharper, deeper pain then heartbreak. She stares at him in disbelief and the question will not be silenced. “You love me?”

Green eyes flash lycanthropic in the gloom, half crazed, and with an animalistic growl he shoves her away before he grabs her and kisses her. Crushing her body to his he pushes her back against the wall, pulling her up and Wendy kisses him wildly. All arguments, all rationality and propriety are set ablaze as he licks and bites at her neck, his hands hiking up her dress and she delves her hands between their bodies, loosening his belt. Ripping apart her underwear he pushes them to the sandy ground, the floorboards creaking and groaning under their weight but Wendy hardly notices.

Movements frenzied and uncontrolled they push and pull away clothing until he spreads her legs and she grips him once, guiding him before he grabs her wrist and pushes it down and then thrusts into her in one rough, quick movement. Wendy bites down against his shoulder, folding her arms and legs around his back as he jerks his hips, thrusting into her hard and fast until she finally screams, throwing her head back and he kisses her throat. Pleasure begins to kindle in her, an aching feeling that pulses in her stomach and makes her toes curl even as she throbs at the use. He pushes her knee back, rising to look into her face and his eyes are the most vulnerable she has ever seen him. He does not last much longer, too inexperienced and too aroused. Panting and movements starting to lose that primal rhythm he stiffens, yelling out her name and comes deep inside her.

He slumps down, breathing hard and shallow and all the tension seeps out of her muscles, though she did not find release. As he looks down at her and kisses her mouth softly the reality of what they have just done begins to grow and Wendy feels a fist squeezing her chest. How can she go home now? She allowed him, wanted him but who can say what the result of her decision will be?

“Peter?” she asks as he rolls off her and they lie staring at the collapsed ceiling. Stars glimmer down at them through the gap in the roof.

“Yes bird?”

“What this is…it isn’t hate,” she offers gently, turning her face to him and he stares at her and smiles briefly.

“I don’t know what this is…Hook would call it bad form. If – if you want to go home you can, I won’t stop you,” he says and Wendy stares at him intently. All the mockery, all the jest and anger is missing from his voice. He sounds nervous.

“But what if I’m…” she cannot finish the sentence and he frowns in confusion.

“What?”

“Nothing…I need to think. Wait outside for five minutes. If I’m not here when you get back then this is our last goodbye,” she says and sits up, straightening her clothes. She reaches for the bag containing the beans, getting to her knees as he rises to his feet. He stares down at her, cups her face and kisses her mouth tenderly before he walks to the door. He does not look back.

*

Wendy waits five minutes, then ten but as almost twenty pass she moves to the door and looks out as all the air escapes her lungs as if punched in the gut. Peter is gone.

_I thought I was escaping him but maybe it wasn’t me who had to escape.  
_

Tears rolling down her face she picks out a bean and closes her fist around it, closing her eyes and thinks of home…


	4. Chapter 4

Time is a stream, a current that sweeps all life along with it but Neverland has always been exempt, a stone that smoothly splits and pushes time away before it converges and moves on. 

Peter does not move on, he is as abiding and constant as the island he controls and it has been that way for centuries. Nothing changes and that eternity will endure for as long as he holds sway but at nights, nights filled with odd yearnings and troubled dreams he wakes with a doubt that shadows him constantly.

Time may slip passed Neverland but what if that unnatural passage slowly wears his home down like a rock, growing steadily thinner until all that is left is a sliver of land and a tree. Who can say if Neverland had always been an island? What if there had been more before Peter?

“There was nothing before me…” he grumbles under his breath and shifts on his feet, his position concealed by leaves as he perches lightly on a branch. These thoughts, these doubts, are unprecedented and every time one scurries into his mind he wants to bang a fist down on it but it makes no difference. They plague him more and more, ever since she had left. Ever since  _he_  had left her.

He can admit it was ungallant but leaving Wendy Darling had not been an act of cruelty but one of self-preservation. She made him weak, she was a liability and he could not risk his island or his control over an intense and inexplicable infatuation. He thought cutting her from his life would remedy his affliction but even with her gone she had taken root in the island and there was nothing he could do to ignore it.

Not that he hasn’t tried. He has filled his life with countless adventures, kept tabs on numerous plots that he has spun into motion in dozens of worlds and at first it had worked. His sense of time, if such a thing can be imagined, had swirled and spun around him in the dizzying way it had once before, in that he did not even feel it’s passing, but after a while it started to drag and like a bird trapped in a net he could not fight against it and eventually stopped.

It has been almost four years for Wendy but an eternity for him. He resents her for that, as he does all other complaints that now beset him. It all comes back to her, to the way she bungled into his life, upsetting the order he had so effortlessly controlled and in turn capsizing his very sense of self. He had accused her of bewitching him and it is an accusation that still holds fast. She may be human but she has a power he cannot understand and it ensnares him even now.

That’s why he half hates her and if she had been anyone else he would have destroyed her long ago. Wendy Darling is different. Like the pirate captain he cannot defeat her because a part of him knows that to kill her, or Hook, would take something away from himself and only leave an echoing gap. He has nothing to base this fear on but he knows it as surely as he knows the stars will appear at night.

He snaps to attention, his dark and whirling thoughts settling, as he sees a familiar figure approaching. Wendy, now a little older, takes a seat on a bench and watches children play in a small park across the grass. All the anger, all the distrust and confusion are blasted away like shadows confronted by sunlight as he finally sees her with his own eyes. Giddiness, like a burning golden arrow, shoots through him and a strange heat beams in his head so intensely that if he possessed the magic he once did he would burn like a star. But all he can do is smile and sit with this odd and pure feeling until his heart, so ill-used and black, shrinks away from the feeling and ventures back to the darkness it usually dwells in.

He blames her for that too. Something is happening to him. Something he cannot even recognise let alone name but in the deepest place in his heart that is still light he fears it. It is what has lead him to her world, to this park in London as the church bells begin to toll and the worshipers come out of their churches, trailing their children with them. The bells ring the time, something he secretly detests, and Wendy perks up.

She had been staring into the distance, her head tilted to the side. He wonders what she is thinking. His shadow, which is now trying to hide amongst the rustling shadows of the trees, has been keeping watch on Wendy. As it had brought the girl to the island without his say so before it had also sought her out again. The unpredictable behaviour, the strange sense of will that seems separate from his own sometimes disquiets him but the shadow is his and he is its master. The shadow only acts on his own wants and needs, even those he cannot fathom.

Through that connection he had seen and felt glimpses of her, of this park she so often goes to but seeing her with his own eyes he realises what he has been missing. She is sad, no more than that. A vacant hollowness glosses over her eyes as if something is missing inside so when she looks at the world those gaps are reflected back at her. Her face is pale and thin, her eyes dark and she sits listlessly as if she has recently recovered from an illness and all the energy and life has sunk to the bottom like sand in a tank. It’s there, she’s breathing but the vitality that once raced through her is muted.

He wants to laugh, to rejoice that she is suffering because if she had been happy he would have taken it as a personal affront but no she has been laid low. He can’t make light of it, he smiles but feels nothing, as if she has sapped even his cruelty away and pulverised it in her sorrow.

_What am I doing here? I can’t take her back with me, I won’t…but I need answers. I have to understand what is happening._

The  _thing_  that is happening, the thing that his Boys know not to comment on for fear of banishment is half the reason he is here. Wendy is the root of it, he is sure but what can he hope to get from her? Answers? She doesn’t even look like she knows what day it is. It is a wasted trip, he should find other means to rectify his current problem because if he doesn’t what use will the Heart of the Truest Believer be to him when the times comes? His very existence depends on finding a cure but even so he cannot move.

What would she do if he sat down next to her or called her name from the tree? Would she run? Would she fight? Even entrapped and fighting for her life on the island she had always done so with a commendable bravery and will to survive but now that seems to have gone. If he sat down next to her she would probably look right through him and that thought fills him with a seething reproach. She fills his every moment, sleeping and waking, and to consider that it's not the same for her is an insulting prospect. It’s another torment.

Peter inhales when she suddenly stands and he thinks he has been spotted when her eyes pass by his hiding position in the tree but as she casts her eyes downwards and begins to walk away someone calls her name and she looks up. A young man in a brown uniform approaches her with a smile and she offers a small but genuine one in return. A hot, violent wave of jealousy rushes through him so intensely that it makes him breathless and all worries he previously had are scorched into char under it. He knows envy, he knows greed but both are fleeting because he always gets what he wants. He had her, had her in a way that he thought would defuse his feelings for Wendy but as he watches another man gently touch the back of her hand he is overwhelmed by memory. The feel of her mouth against his, the granules of sand under his fingers as he pushed against her and the heat of that arid night around their bodies.

This is something so completely alien, so uncontrollable that he can only wait for it to pass but it doesn’t and he finds himself lashing out in the most primal, infantile way. His shadow, currently preoccupying itself by trying to blend into the shadow of a bench, responds to his outrage and as the young soldier begins to walk backwards the shadow merges into another at his feet and trips him up.

Peter laughs so hard he almost falls off the branch.

* * *

 

Wendy gazes at the children until they begin to blur, the spinning wheels of prams pushed by nannies flashing silver and black in her vision but she doesn’t really see. She comes to the park everyday if she can make it, a place that she feels undisturbed and unnoticed. They may spare a glance or two but they all pass on and leave her to her thoughts. Home is different, though she wishes it was like it used to be. Her family, despite its shortcomings, always prevailed with a hopeful outlook but the last few years a strange rigid cheerfulness and forced normalcy have filled the small house like gas and Wendy finds it increasingly cloying. She comes to the park to breathe and to escape her parents’ troubled gazes and her brothers' confusion.

For years she walked as if in a dream, a fog of sadness that was preferable to the sharp and lacerating pain that kept her awake at night. For three years an aching longing for something she can never have haunted her and she drifted around the city like a ghost. It was pitiful and part of her riled at it. This was not the person she wanted to grow up to be, she wanted to explore the world, have adventures and learn all there was to know but the adventure she truly had experienced had been a nightmare and she had awoken with something taken from her. Childhood? Innocence? She can’t name it but almost four years ago she had emerged back into this world and knew that she was changed forever.

It had been this park the portal bean had brought her to and since then she had come back frequently, unable to stay away. Maybe it was the sound of children laughing, the sound of joy that had been absent in Neverland and in herself. She remembers stinging with betrayal and loss, breaking down into tears again as their pure laughter echoed around her. That pain had numbed now to a wistfulness but it’s not just nostalgia that brings her there to watch.

It was facing up to what she could never have, accepting the loss she had suffered but knowing that she was free to make her life what she wished. For months she has been telling herself that, to forget the past and what could have been and face reality. She is damaged, ill-used and, to the aware, disgraced but she is still young, just nineteen, and with a future ahead of her. She just has to get up off the bench, leave and never return.

But she is still a dreamer, still clinging onto the possibility of something wonderful but now that childlike desire is replaced with a mature, almost feverish need. Gone are the months drifting around like a shade, dragged down by her own loss and shame. Now a kindle is sparked, a white hot anger at her own helplessness and the will to change that. If she is an adult now then her choices are her own and no one can make them for her. No one will take that away from her again and if she has to leave her own world then so be it. She will not go alone.

A little boy pushes a hoop along the path and Wendy straightens, eyeing the park beyond as a tall woman in black guides a little girl through the gate. Blonde curls bounce around her head and shine gold in the late sunlight, a small beacon that rushes as fast as her legs will carry her. Wendy could find that little girl in a crowd of thousands. Heart searing with love and longing Wendy stands suddenly as she spots a familiar face and tries not to groan.

Edward. He is perfectly nice, handsome, polite and not utterly boring like most of her father’s colleagues and under different circumstances, and location, she would be happy to see him. His affections for her are clear and she half suspects that he would marry her even if he knew the truth, or maybe she is being foolish. If he suspected the truth he would not risk his reputation being associated with her.

That is why coming to the park on Sundays is a risky affair. She should stay away and if her parents find out the truth she knows they will suggest that she go abroad for her own wellbeing. That will be a certainty if Aunt M finds out.

 _She’s not really her mother, she can’t make me go anywhere_. Wendy smiles at Edward, pushing these racing thoughts away but the soft, fixed gaze of the soldier makes her think of Peter and she swallows with a grimace. Edward is the sort of man she should be with, he will make a good husband and father but he lacks a quality she cannot stop wanting. He is guileless, his heart is soft and he would give it to her without hesitation. Peter wasn’t soft, Peter was hard and sharp like a blade and who can love such a person and not expect to get hurt?

“I’m going back to France next week so I’m glad I bumped into you,” Edward says, his voice catching a little and Wendy rethinks her assertions. Once he had been soft but the things he has seen in the trenches must have hardened him. Wendy offers her hand, wishing him luck and as his fingers touch her wrist she feels an odd prickling at the nape of her neck.

“I should be going,” she says politely, her eyes flicking to the park. The tall nanny is trying to catch the little girl but she avoids her, laughing hysterically and Wendy smiles. Edward follows her line of sight and cocks his head.

“She’s a little whirlwind.”

“I know,” she answers proudly, a little too knowingly and Edward tilts his head. Wendy smiles at the slip up, shrugging. “She’s actually my cousin. Her name is Jane.”

“Ah yes, I can see a resemblance,” he laughs, moving back and does not notice the way her smile curdles and dims on her face. However the sick feeling that suddenly rises in her throat disappears as he takes a step back and suddenly trips, feet tangled, and lands hard on his face.

“Edward!” she cries, bending down to help him up. Face red with embarrassment he holds a hand to his bleeding nose and Wendy places a handkerchief up to his face as he straightens with a wince. As she fusses over him in concern she realises that someone is laughing in the distance, a horrible crowing sound that makes her hair stand on end and a shudder go up her back. Nothing had tripped Edward up, the only thing on the path is a shadow cast by a tree.

 _Oh god no…_ Panic flooding through her blood Wendy snaps her head towards the park and sees Jane running through the open gate, her nanny looking in the opposite direction. She does not think, does not say another word but begins to run after the little girl, leaving a bleeding Edward to stare after her in bewilderment. She has felt this adrenaline filled panic once before, when she had run through the hot jungle in Neverland as boys carrying swords and arrows chased after her. That dread gives her speed, outracing the dogs who give chase and even the shadow that she does not see following her above.

“Jane!” she yells as the girl spots the Round Pond and the swans gathering before a crowd throwing bread. As she gets closer a figure in green steps away from the group and her panic is justified. It has been almost four years since she last saw Peter but even at this distance she knows it’s him. He has been something of a fading presence, only occupying her dreams and stray dark thoughts because lingering on him brings up overwhelming feelings of pain and anger and now that blasts through her. She never thought he would come for Jane, never even considered he had an inkling of the truth. No one knows, only her parents and Aunt M but here he is, staring at Jane with a puzzled expression as she comes closer and closer.

If she had not been so worried, if she had time to get closer and look Wendy would have noticed a change in Peter but she only had one thought: protect Jane. Close enough to touch she delves a hand into the bag she always carries, a bag that she brought with her from Agrabah and reaches Jane, stopping her.  She does not stop to look up. Skirts twisting around her legs she picks up the startled child and draws her fist out of the bag and before Peter can move she throws a cloud of glittering black dust into his face and freezes him.

When she left that hot and sandy place all those years ago she did not just leave with beans but an arsenal of magic to protect herself. As she turns away, unable to truly stare at him, she ducks as something swoops down from above and she sees Peter’s shadow. Wendy runs.  As Jane begins to cry the bird feeders turn, spare her a glance and look away again, unconcerned. If they can see the shadow above none give any indication. Maybe they do not believe enough to see and that would explain why when night falls and the park locks its gates it does so as it did the night before, orderly and routine undisturbed. Some worlds and people are not ready for magic, even when it happens right before their eyes.

Wendy ducks again as the shadow tries to grab her and she fumbles for a bean. It glints purple in the fading light and the sudden rupture of the portal opening quietens Jane’s tears as she stares in awe but soon she starts to cry again and Wendy holds her tight.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I won’t let him have you. Don’t be frightened.”

“Want mummy!” she yells, cheeks red and wet and Wendy feels like something has stabbed her but she does not have time for self-pity. This is it, this is their chance for a fresh start and in that moment all rationality and doubts are gone. She laughs as her hair waves about her wildly and she jumps with Jane into the portal, pressing her securely against her chest.

“I’m here!”

* * *

Peter watches as his shadow slips into the portal after Wendy and the child, disappearing in a flash of light and suddenly he can move again. He stumbles forward, panting and looks at the spot they had been. The child, the little girl had run towards him as if she knew who he was and he had felt a strange spinning sensation, like a small boat caught in a whirlpool. That feeling had exploded as Wendy ran after the child and suddenly everything made sense, for a fleeting moment he saw the truth but it was too awful, too  _real_ , to confront so he shut it away in a dark corner of his heart.

He should go back to Neverland and forget this ever happened but he can’t. He is  _aging_ , he is growing old and he has to find out why and stop it. 


	5. Chapter 5

Beams of golden sunshine cascade through the trees, casting filtered light along the forest floor and the air is filled with sweet bird song. The spinning portal erupts and the peace of the woods is shattered as Wendy and the little girl tumble forward and land in a heap. The rushing noise of the portal disappears and the woods around them stir, birds flashing through the trees, crying warnings, and magical creatures scurry out of sight.

“Jane?” Wendy gets to her knees and brushes the disarrayed curls out of Jane’s eyes. She stares around with large green eyes, tears still wet on her face. Her little chin begins to wobble and she starts sniffing. She is stunned. Wendy pulls her in for a hug and exhales happily at being able to hold her.

“Where – where’s Missy?” Jane asks against Wendy’s shoulder. Missy is Jane’s nanny, a tall woman dressed in black. She must be going mad with worry, Wendy thinks and a sizzling guilt begins in her stomach but she ignores it.

“She’s in London. Don’t be frightened Jane, nothing will hurt you,” Wendy soothes as more tears spill from the child’s eyes. “Do – do you remember me?”

Jane pulls back, sniffing and nods. “Fwendy.”

“That’s right precious,” Wendy smiles. Jane, who has a problem pronouncing some words, had come to calling Wendy “friendly Wendy” and due to her speech, this comes out as fwendy. The name has stuck. Jane stops crying and Wendy dries her face gently as she looks up at the canopy above. Wonder begins to shine in her eyes and Jane smiles.

“Tingles…”

“What does?” Wendy asks but Jane does not answer. When Wendy had first come to this place she had felt an odd current pass through her like an electric shock but she had not felt it since. This place is full of magic; it hangs in the very air like dust motes. Can Jane feel that in a way she cannot? The little girl shakes her shoulders, all fear gone but then she inhales sharply and Wendy looks up. A dark shadow dives down from above like a bullet, it’s eyes glowing and narrowed into slits and Wendy can only throw her hands up before it grabs her and lifts her up into the air.

“Fwendy!” Jane yells, staring open mouthed as the shadow places Wendy high up in a tree and she can only cling onto a branch as it flies back down again. Jane freezes but then with a speed that is legendary amongst her family she turns on her heel and runs.

“No! Wait!” Wendy screams, staring down but Jane and the Shadow are gone. Palms slippery and straining with effort Wendy pulls herself up until she flings a leg over the branch, cursing her thick skirts as she does. Breathing heavily she straightens and then almost falls in shock. Crouched on an opposite branch is Peter.

They stare at each other in tense silence, bird song and beams of sunshine dancing over them. She is unable to look away from his green eyes, eyes that gaze intensely at her and she feels hypnotised, like a charmer with a snake. Who is the snake? Finally, she tears her gaze away and looks down, ignoring the strange noise he makes. It is a very long way down, if she fell…

“Race you to the bottom?” He challenges and she glances at him, glaring. The sound of his voice is different, deeper but she pushes the insight away. Ignoring him she stands on the branch, arms thrown out for balance and he follows her up, standing lightly and with no concern.

“Next one,” she whispers to herself, remembering all the tree climbing she had done in Neverland, though there had been vines to help her down. While she carefully lowers herself Peter jumps, trusting whatever he lands on will hold his weight, never leaving her.

“Are you just going to pretend I’m not here?”

“Yes,” she answers before she can stop herself.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asks, mouth smirking and a wave of anger rolls through her. That’s what he wants, a reaction.

“You’re not important enough to be angry at,” she answers primly, looking for the next branch but they all look very spindly.

“Is that so?” he almost laughs.

“You mean nothing to me,” she says, her voice shaking and she looks at him. The smirk on his face fades a little but his eyes narrow.

“But that little girl does, doesn’t she?” he asks quietly and Wendy tries with all her heart to keep her face impassive but her fear must show. He leans in closer, like an animal smelling blood. “Who is she?”

“Not that it’s any of your business but she – she’s my cousin if you must know,” she explains offhandedly, staring him square in the eye and she prays that he believes her. It would seem odd if she said Jane was a stranger, not after the trouble of chasing her and taking her through a portal.  Peter would see through that lie, so a half truth is better. This close Wendy gets a good look at his face and she feels a strange frisson, a mixture of attraction and repulsion but also something else. Her mouth smirks and he frowns.

“What?”

“I always wondered what you would look like with a beard,” she says and very lightly brushes the stubble lightly covering his chin. He is older; she can see it as surely as she can see the years on her own face. Peter sneers and moves back.

“You're seeing things,” he says, not looking at her and Wendy feels like she’s been handed a weapon. Thinking this she looks down and gasps. Her bag full of magic is gone.

“Looking for this?” Peter asks and she looks up to see the bag swinging from his finger. Wendy grabs for it but he lets it fall and in a blink he disappears and appears below the tree in time to catch it.

“Give that back!” she yells and throwing all caution away she climbs as fast as she can down as he starts to riffle through the bag.

“Dark fairy dust? Where on earth did you get this?” he asks, impressed, and pushes his hand deeper into the bag, the interior bigger on the inside. Wendy watches him pull out a small framed picture of her family and Jane and in her haste she slips. She plummets through the air, crashing through branches and her screams echo through the forest but the hard slam to the ground does not come. She lands in Peter's arms at the last moment.

“You were always useless at climbing,” he says, arms around her body and for a moment she thinks that he is going to kiss her, his eyes flicking between her lips and eyes. She struggles, turning away, and he lowers her. Wendy, shaking and more scared then she will show, snatches the bag from him and he smirks.

“Give me the picture,” she demands and he moves it back repeatedly as she reaches for it. He grins, enjoying her annoyance but then hastily moves back when she swings at his face with the bag.

“You’re impossible!” she yells and then slumps, inhaling deeply. “It doesn’t matter,” she says and then walks past him, her body aching and skin stinging from her fall. The sun is getting lower, she has to find Jane. If the shadow has her then Peter should know where they are. Wendy glances at his arrogant, smirking face and feels a wave of nausea and hot boiling anger in the pit of her stomach. Why did he have to be at the park? Why then? She begins walking, focusing on finding the girl because these swirling questions will eventually lead to why she is in this present situation in the first place and something in her will snap and she will open her mouth and tell him everything. He can never know the truth.

“I think she went that way…” he says, walking beside her and pointing through the trees. It’s dark in the middle of the woods and Wendy tries not to imagine how scared Jane must be right now but she can’t.

“I don’t need your help. In fact you might as well go,” she answers brusquely, not looking at him and he cocks his head, wincing.

“Can’t without my shadow, I need it to travel between worlds. So if we find the shadow you will likely find the girl,” he stares at the framed picture he still holds, at Jane, and Wendy rips the photograph away from him before he can take it back. Jane must be with his terrible shadow.

“Where is it?”

“What?” he asks, looking confused for a moment and Wendy stops, biting her tongue.

“You know what! Where’s your shadow?”

Peter’s eyes widen in understanding and he hums in thought. “It’s hard to tell, it has a mind of it’s own sometimes. Like bringing you to the island, that was not my decision.”

“Yes you made that clear,” she snaps and then forces herself to be calm but her emotions are in a whirl. She wants to search alone but she needs his help, as much as it sickens her. “Do you know or not?”

Green eyes narrow playfully, wickedly and Wendy tenses but he just sighs and closes his eyes. “Hmm, there’s a moss covered well in a clearing…a cottage too I think and,” he stops abruptly, eyes flying open and Wendy clutches his arm in worry before she can stop herself.

“What?”

“It’s playing cat’s cradle with her,” he says in disbelief, his mouth down turning and after a pause, Wendy laughs. Anxiety flows out of her with the laugh and she rubs at her chest, sighing.

“She’s okay, thank goodness. I know where that is,” she says and begins walking purposefully again. She thinks that he is not going to follow but suddenly he's by her side again, making her jump. He gazes at her thoughtfully.

“You’ve been to the Enchanted Forest before, haven’t you? When you use a portal bean you have to think of a destination. So either you or the child must have known about this place,” he continues to stare at her and Wendy wonders what to tell him. He is right she does know this place, has been a visitor many times over the last year. It’s the only place she feels free in, no one knowing who she is and those that do offer no judgement or comment. It is a land of enchantment and wonder but also of fresh starts. It will not be that if Peter had a say in it. The less he knows the better.

“It’s none of your business,” she answers formally and he makes a gruff chuckling noise. He starts to walk in front of her, so that she has to continue swerving around him but he keeps blocking her way. Finally, she stops and pushes him away in exasperation. “Grow up!”

“…Poor choice of words,” he says after a pause, laughing hollowly and Wendy feels curious despite herself. He is older, maybe even a little taller. She takes a step back, casting her eyes up and down his length before meeting his eyes again.

“What happened?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” he lifts his palms up, shrugging.

“Me?” she shakes her head in confusion. “I have no idea.”

“How long has it been for you? Since…” he trails off and her face heats. She purses her mouth and begins walking again.

“Almost four years,” her voice is low and heavy. Almost four years since Agrabah, since he left her so cruelly. That night is as fresh and vibrant to her as if it happened yesterday. The musky smell of rotting wood, the heat of the night and the cluster of strange stars glimpsed through a hole in a roof is still as clear now as it was then. She remembers what he tastes like, the weight of him. Happiness and rejection.

“Four years. It’s been a lot longer to me. You know time works differently in Neverland,” as he says this his usual cockiness is gone and he looks incredibly drained. It makes him look even older. She wonders how intense his nightmares are now without Tink there to make him sleeping droughts. Peter inhales, catches her eye and smiles. It’s gentle, simple. Wendy looks away and picks up the pace.

“So you were in the park because you thought I had answers?”

“Yes. It started after you left.”

“I didn’t leave!” she bursts out and he cocks an eyebrow.

“Technically you did, in the Jolly Roger. Anyway, it’s not like you would have come back,” he answers and Wendy is floored because he really believes that. He never even considered the possibility that she wanted to go back to the island with him. Not knowing how to react to this she tears her eyes away from him.

“Well you’ll have to find answers from elsewhere. Even if I knew I wouldn’t help you,” she adds cruelly and he flashes a grin at her.

“So bitter. You’re so cold and yet in the park you helped that man, so your heart isn’t all ice,” he adds lightly and Wendy feels a pulse of guilt. Edward, she had just left him in the park without a word. Had he seen her leave in the portal?

“Poor Ed, can’t imagine what he must be thinking right now,” she casts a suspicious glance at Peter, who is sneering slightly. “You tripped him up didn’t you? Why would you do such a thing? You almost broke his nose!”

“Almost?” he looks disappointed and Wendy growls in annoyance. However knowing what Peter is truly capable of Edward got off light. Peter’s jealousy makes her deeply uncomfortable as much as it perplexes her.

“The only one with a frozen heart here is you. He’s a good, decent man who is about to go fighting for his country and you’re playing childish tricks,” she shakes her head and his sneer turns into a snarl.

“What do I care about little tin soldiers? Marry him, have a litter of screaming brats and go grey. What do I care?” he snaps again and grabbing a stick he proceeds to whip the grass at their feet, trailing behind.

“Who said anything about marriage?” she whispers to herself, watching him destroy any unlucky foliage that gets in his way. They walk like this for a while, Wendy walking ahead and Peter some distance away until she comes to a fork in the road. The cottage is down the fork on the right but the shadow may have moved. She turns back to Peter, who slows to a stop, clearly in a daydream. She asks which way, pointing and Peter looks up, frowning.

“The way?” he asks, looking puzzled and a squirming suspicion begins in Wendy’s stomach. He has forgotten where he is. How is that possible? Is it another trick?

“Yes, to your shadow. You said they were playing a game, remember?”

“Right,” he looks at his hands, as if playing cat’s cradle with imaginary string, before he suddenly looks up. “Of course I remember, it’s this way,” he brushes past her, taking the fork to the right, his mouth set in harsh lines.

Peter Pan appears to be losing his mind as well as his youth, something that should give her pleasure but she only feels a needling sort of pity. It is a short-lived emotion. Whatever is happening to him, even if she is involved, doesn’t matter. She is finding Jane and taking her home and he can lose all his marbles for all she cares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait guys.


	6. Chapter 6

The little girl pulls one of the ribbons from her hair and offers it to the shadow, who takes it and begins to thread it through its fingers. The child had been scared of the shadowy figure and almost involuntarily it had taken the shape of its master. Now he is stuck in that form, and wherever the girl runs to, he trails behind like a balloon tethered to her wrist.

“Pretty!” she cries, seeing a firefly and gives chase and tugs shadow-Peter along. It can feel the presence of its master and it should go back to him but the longer it spends with the child the weaker the need is. Sometimes it forgets about him entirely.

A titter of laughter sounds through the dusky forest and as a grand estate becomes visible through the treeline, a little man appears suddenly on a hill above them. In the fading sunlight the man glimmers like fine gold.

“What do we have here? Trespassers!” he admonishes, flashing a finger and Jane blinks and grabs the shadow-Peter’s hand. Gold eyes narrow at the figure clad in green and in an instant all hostility is gone. He bows with a flourish, making Jane giggle, and as the last light fades from the world fireflies dance through the air.

 

*

 

“Tink?” Wendy looks through the cottage windows, hands cupped around her eyes but she can see no movement from within. She sighs and turns to Peter, who leans against a moss covered well. Since finding the cottage he has said very little but sometimes she will catch him blinking rapidly and turning, as if expecting something to be behind him. It unnerves her.

“No one home?” he asks softly as Wendy searches around the old pots by the door for a key.

“She’s probably gone to market,” she smiles, finding the key and straightens. “It was deserted when she found it, it belonged to a milliner I’m told.  I find toys in little nooks and crannies…” she unlocks the door, trailing off, and turns to Peter and jumps. He is inches from her.

“Who lives here now?”

Wendy frowns. “Tink,” she says again and he just blinks. “Tinkerbell?” she reminds him and she can see a desperate struggle for recognition in his eyes.

“Green!” he exhales in a pent up breath and Wendy exhales with him, unable to stop smiling. She had thought his memory loss a trick but now her indifference has shifted to a mild concern.

“That’s right,” she says kindly and Peter jerks away, as if dosed with cold water. He would prefer her scorn, not her pity because then his problem is real and visible for all to see. It’s an utterly powerless state to be in. He moves forward with a smirk, too close, Wendy stumbles through the door. She grips the bag of magic and turns to Peter, composed.

“You have to tell your shadow to bring Jane here.”

“In a moment,” he sighs and slumps down into an armchair by a loom. He plucks at the threads as she stands rigidly, her fists tight around the bag. She wants to shake him, to snap him out of this lethargic state but she remains stiff.

“Who won?” the words burst from her lips.

“What?” he looks up, head tilted back against the chair.

“Thinning out, who won?”

“Oh…Felix of course,” he grins and leans forward, eyes never leaving hers. “Though just for your daring alone I’ll consider making it a joint place.”

“I’m flattered,” she sneers slightly and with a sigh, she relaxes, disposing her coat but keeps the bag nearby. Peter blinks tiredly, eyes roving around the room. Herbs, pots and pans hang from the rafters and numerous bottles line the walls. Over the last year she and Tink have travelled to other realms, trading goods and money for wares. The little cottage is littered with odds and ends and Wendy thinks that one day they will need a warehouse, if their little stall proves successful.

“What’s Tink been up to?”

“After you banished her she came here. The fairies would not accept her back and she’s too proud to ask so she found this cottage and started a business. We sell potions and other magical objects in the town market.”

“We?” his eyes light up and Wendy wishes she had kept her mouth shut.

“Yes _we_ , no thanks to you,” she adds and he does not react, just continues to stare at her. Wendy sits by the window, watching the path for any movement. When Peter speaks it’s so softly she barely hears him.

“I didn’t banish Tink to punish her. I did it to punish Hook. He’s going stir crazy without her,” he adds with a small smile and Wendy looks away with disgust. “I could have killed them, all of you, but I didn’t. Isn’t that more merciful?”

“There are things worse than death. Though I suppose that’s your greatest fear,” she looks back and they stare across the room at each other in the dimming light.

“You don’t know anything about me Wendy.”

“I don’t think you have a clue either,” she fires back, waving a hand at his older face and he laughs. He tilts his head, hand touching his cheek and he cocks an eyebrow.

“What do you think?”

“What do I think? I think my opinion has little baring,” she replies primly and the smile on his face widens.

“You like it,” he says arrogantly, sitting back and Wendy sniffs in disdain.

“Stop this silliness. Where is she Peter?” she leans forward, staring at him desperately and he frowns before closing his eyes. Wendy holds her breath and watches his face carefully for any changes. When his eyes snap open in surprise she jerks.

“I know where she is.”

“Where? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine and I’ll bring her back to you. Aren’t I helpful?” he asks with a small smirk but looks troubled. “She’s still with my shadow…and a person I haven’t seen in a long time.” He falls silent, clearly deep in thought but Wendy is ready to scream at him. He looks anxious and if Peter Pan is anxious then she is terrified.

“What’s wrong? Are you sure she’s safe?”

"I just didn't anticipate..." He trails off and seems to glare at her in the shadows, shaking his head in confusion. “Why is she so important to you? Why did you go to so much trouble to bring her here?”

Wendy goes cold but she speaks passionately. “She’s my family. I thought you were going to take her.”

“Why would I take her?”

“To hurt me!”

“I didn’t even know she existed until today. There’s something you’re not telling me,” he says and she suddenly stands. Wendy tries to move out of his grasp but he grabs her arm and pulls her to him.

“Let go!”

“Not until you tell me the truth! I know you have something to do with me aging! Did you make a deal with the imp? The child for this curse on me?” 

“What?!”

No idea what he is saying Wendy struggles to open the bag in her hands but he rips it away and throws it to the floor. She smacks at his shoulders, pushing him away as he pulls her closer until she’s pressed against his chest. Peter gazes intensely into her eyes, as if trying to read her thoughts and she experiences a stab of fear that he possibly can. She turns her face away and gasps when she feels his mouth graze her cheek, down to the underside of her jaw where he presses his lips. He slumps against her, all fight gone and gathers her up in his arms. Her pulse quickens, rushing below the skin and he groans as she flushes, craning her head back but unable to push him away. They stumble back as the door opens and light floods the room.

“What the bloody hell is going on?!”

Tink drops the bags she had been carrying and seeing Peter she flings herself at him with an angry yell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little short but the next chapter is when things get dramatic. I'll post again next week, if I can. Again sorry for the wait.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear Peter and Rumple are not related in this story.

“Not a very polite way to greet guests. But it is _you_ so…” he mutters stuffily, bloody rag up to his face as Tink glares down at him, hands on her hips. As soon as she had seen him all the rage, betrayal and hurt that had been building within her for years boiled over and when she came back to herself Peter was crouched on the ground with Wendy between them. Blood stains his chin and dries on his shirt. Tink lowers her hands. She has never seen Peter bleed.

“You’re not healing?”

“Very perceptive,” he replies dryly, lowering the cloth and turns to Wendy who has been pacing before the door. Since night fell and a fat full moon had risen in the sky she had become frantic, constantly asking Peter if Jane was okay. As the first wolf howls echoes through the woods with an eerier sadness she stiffens and then races for the door. Peter’s hand is around her wrist before she can turn it.

“Don’t be foolish. It’s the first night of a wolf moon, no one goes out unless they want to die,” he says to the side of her face, Wendy not looking at him. Tink moves to her side, brushing her arm.

“He’s right, we can’t go out while werewolves prowl. We have to wait for morning,” she makes Wendy turn to her and smiles gently. “Come on, you look exhausted, just sit down.”

Now by the door Peter watches as Wendy sits in an armchair, her back stiff as if relaxing would be some kind of defeat or shame. She stares up at him again and he answers before she can ask.

“Jane is fine. She’s playing with a toy, my shadow beside her. They’re in a rather lavish room in fact,” he adds, looking around the humble cottage with mild distaste. Tink flashes a look of reproach before she covers Wendy’s lap with a blanket.

“He’s telling the truth, you know I can tell when someone is lying.”

As the fairy prepares a hot drink Peter stares out of the window, watching fireflies dance in beams of moonlight and then sees a flash of white on a hilltop. A furry body jumps happily through the trees, quickly followed by others. Peter glares at the moon spitefully.

He had to get out, he had to leave and so he waits. Quietly sitting in an armchair he pretends to sleep as Tink and then Wendy fret around him, like an unwanted stray cat that’s just taken up residence. Will they throw him out? They speak in hushes as Peter drowses despite himself.

“He seems to be losing his memory,” Wendy whispers, now lying on her bed, Tink sitting in her hammock across the room. Her face peaks out through a gap in the curtain across her bed.

“Yes, James said that was happening more and more.”

“James?”

“Oh that’s Killian. His middle name is James…when he first came to the island, as a boy, he was called that. Then he left and came back on his ship. Captain Hook…” she trails off and Peter can hear the smile on her face. A silence settles, comfortable but deceptively so. Wendy, just as himself, is no doubt waiting for everyone to fall asleep so she can slip into the forest and look for Jane. He struggles to stay awake and moves a little in his seat. Heartbeats slow, breathing becomes deeper and as moonlight begins to filter through the window Peter opens his eyes.

For a moment his mind is vast and blank, just a rather comfortable childlike expanse but this peace does not last. He jerks upright, panicking and tries to place himself, and only when his roving eyes land on Wendy does he relax. Everything may seem unfamiliar but she is constant, when he sees her his fraying mind becomes stronger, more durable. If she left…

Peter shakes his head, hardening his will and silently gets to his feet. They both sleep deeply and if he meets no opposition he should be back before they wake. He imagines Wendy’s delight at having the troublesome little girl back in her arms and then maybe her ire will fade away to what he knows lies beneath it. He gently takes the bag that Wendy cradles to her chest and quickly takes what he needs.

She curls around the plush bag, gripping it tightly as she sinks into a nightmare.

 

*

 

Children are exhausting, he had forgotten.

“No dearie, that’s not for catch,” Rumpelstiltskin takes Pandora’s Box as it flies through the air towards the boy-shadow. Since entering his mansion the little blonde whirlwind had been inspecting every little thing she could reach and if she could not then she made the shadow get it for her. Said shadow is now seemingly stuck in the shape of Peter Pan.

The timing of this event is less than ideal, his master plan is only hours away from initiation but he is adaptable. He can work this into his schedule. Finally the girl begins to yawn and curls up before the fire, the shadow sitting crossed legged next to her. The thing had never moved more than a few inches from her. It is peculiar but then if his suspicions about the girl are right then keeping a shadow bound to her is the least of her abilities. As Rumple waves his fingers and a blanket covers her he spots a flash of green out of the corner of his eye and lifts a hand.

“Hello boy. I wondered when you’d get here,” he says, revealing the flesh and blood Pan. Rumple narrows his eyes and giggles. “I should correct myself, you’re not a boy any longer are you? No one teach you how to shave before?”

Pan glares at him before he flicks his eyes to the sleeping girl. “Whatever deal was made I’m here to negotiate.”

“Negotiate? Oh that’s not like you, from what I remember you just take what you want,” he spits out the last words and Peter rolls his eyes.

“Still hung up on a simple mistake that happened centuries ago? Recruiting your son as a Lost Boy was merely a fluke, he could have been anyone. I let him go in exchange for your services,” he motions at the shadow who had not paid its master any attention since appearing. Hundreds of years ago the Dark One had shown Pan how to rip shadows away and Peter had told him where his son had moved onto and by whom.

“He’s still lost,” he growls out and Peter shrugs.

“I did my part. I even _apologised_ ,” he says, as if this should settle the matter. “Listen, I have no quarrel with you, there’s no ill will on my part…” his polite smile falls and his eyes glitter coldly. “Unless you’ve put this damned curse on me.”

Rumple laughs. “You think you’re cursed? Because of a bit of stubble?”

“It’s more than that! It’s that – that thing over there!” he points at the sleeping child, whose curls gleam honey gold in the firelight. “As soon as I laid eyes on her I felt it, she’s draining my life away.”

“You’re right, she is,” Rumple answers flatly and Peter is shocked silent. The Dark One moves closer to Pan, humming in consideration. “For someone who’s even older than I am you’re very obtuse. I’m guessing your current predicament happened three years ago, give or take?”

“Yes, same age as the child.”

“And you can’t figure out why?” he tries not to smile but he is having fun. The untouchable Peter Pan dancing around what is blindingly obvious, to avoid reality, is delicious. He could make him squirm for hours. Days. Years…Another piece of his plan clicks into place with a satisfying shift and he tries not to rub his hands with glee.

“I wouldn’t be here now if I had,” he answers stiffly through his teeth. Rumple sidles up to him, smiling.

“Don’t you think she has something of a fey cast to her features? Rather like your own. Interesting, isn’t it?”

Peter stares at Rumple, his gaze strange and oddly stony before he laughs. “She’s not mine. It was part of the price of Neverland. I can father no children.”

“Hmm, well, magic is a tricky beast, as you know. There are loop holes…”

“I am not having this conversation, it’s _utter_ nonsense. _Someone_ made a deal with you. You must have cursed me in return for the child. That’s your raison d'etre, isn’t it?”

“You read too much laddie and stealing children is more your area, as I recall. I did not curse anyone, or make a deal concerning this wee child…However,” he twirls, lifting a finger and Pan stiffens, fists tightening. “I think a curse is the answer to all your problems.”

“What are you talking about you toad?”

Rumple brushes off the insult; he has heard them a thousand times. “As the girl ages so do you, as she develops you will regress. You’re already older, your magic is dwindling, I can see that. So the question is what to do?”

“Killing her would be the simplest solution but I can’t be sure doing that won’t kill me too,” as Pan callously ponders he stares at the child but then loses focus. He does not see the disgust on Rumple’s face but he feels the sharp pain lashing through his chest. He doubles over with a groan.

“Your heart must be in a sorry state.  Black as pitch.”

“Please. As if you have any moral standing in that department,” he pants, straightening. “I could take her back to Neverland, until the time is ready for my new heart…” but even as he says it the Dark One can see the immediate distaste on Pan’s face. He would never burden himself with raising the child somehow responsible for his decline. Pan could psychically look like an adult but his mind and heart would still belong to a selfish, cruel boy.

“Lucky for you I have another opportunity, which you’ll find less burdensome.”  The Dark One extends his hand and in a puff of purple smoke a small scroll sits tightly sealed on his palm.

“What’s that?” Pan comes closer, ever curious.

“This is the answer to all your problems. It’s a curse, one that will be cast in two days’ time, at dawn. It will sweep all the inhabitants of this land to one without magic, a land where all will relive the same day over and over and over…”

“They never age?” Pan asks, staring at the scroll hungrily.

“Precisely. If this wee lass is swept along with it she will be stuck as she is now. She, along with everyone else, will be utterly unaware of the time loop. Each day will feel new…” he trails off and curls his golden fingers around the scroll as Pan comes too close.

“I will stop aging…Why to a land without magic? Why cast it at all?”

“That’s my business,” he answers curtly and turns, back to Pan. “So, do we have a deal?”

“What’s the price?”

“What can you pay?” his words are soft and he waits until he hears Pan sigh tiredly behind him. He is at a loss, coming to him for help, but he knows not to underestimate the immortal boy. He is cunning.

“I have spoken to seers. Three decades from now I will have the heart of the truest believer and Neverland will be truly undying. After that I will give you access to the water which grants eternal youth and heals all injury.”

Rumple turns, golden eyes glinting strangely. “Water? You know that’s not what I crave.”

“You can’t have him,” Pan answers flatly and Rumple sneers.

“Then you have no deal,” he motions to the little girl and she begins to stir. Pan grabs his arm.

“It’s been centuries, he’s been stuck in Neverland going crazy for crossing you. Isn’t that enough?”

“That pirate took my son from me, as well as my dearly departed wife. He hid Bae from me. He’s has been under your protection for too long. I doubt he even knows what you’ve been doing for him, does he?”

Pan shifts, uncomfortable and then shrugs. “Once a Lost Boy, always one. It has nothing to do with sentimentality. He was loyal.”

“ _Was_. He’d drive his hook into your rotting heart given the chance. Give him over and this little accident will disappear,” he waves at Jane, who is now sitting up. As she focuses on Pan a beautiful smile blooms over her face and she lifts her arms up to him. Pan looks away, inhaling sharply.

“Fine. In thirty years come to Neverland and do what you want with him. Will you be able to get there?

“Don’t worry, I’ll find a way.”

“Then we have a deal.”

They shake hands as Jane gets to her feet and with a grimace Pan takes her arm and leads her from the room, the now dark shadow swooping ahead.

“Remember laddie, two days and the curse will be cast. Dawn. Try not to forget…” he calls after them as the doors smoothly shut. Once alone Rumple claps giddily, dancing on the spot. Pan has always been a figure on the edge of his life, since he was a little boy dreaming about a magical island. A godlike, capricious being but now, if he is lucky, the curse will force Pan to endure his own worse nightmare. Soon the curse will roll over the land and cover the centuries that Rumpelstiltskin has endured, like a pristine white cloth over a dusty table.

“Then all I have to do it wait for the saviour. Twenty eight years…Then I’ll see my boy again.”

 

*

 

“Lost.”

“No we’re not,” Peter lies, pausing to look over a hill as Jane giggles. She points down the path, smiling helpfully. “It’s that way. Fwendy is that way.”

“Fwendy?” Peter tries not to smirk.

“Yes. She’s my mummy’s …niece,” she answers but sounds unconvinced. She’s young but he has the impression there is a lot of whirling cogs and gears clicking into place behind those eyes. She smiles brightly and he cannot look away. She looks so much like Wendy, he can’t ignore it. Jane hugs herself. “I love her.”

Peter inhales and holds it before speaking. “What about your father?”

Jane looks up. “In heaven.”

“Of course…” he sighs, smothering that strange giddy feeling that wants to burst through his mouth and narrows his eyes at the little girl. “Where are we again? London?”

She shrugs. “The park?” she begins to race ahead, waving for him to follow. “This way!”

They walk for a while, Peter sometimes running to catch up until he takes her hand and makes her walk. She is full of energy and forever asking questions.

“Will you come to my party? Mummy says I can bring people I know. I know you.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do! I see your face in the sky,” she points up at the stars, which are starting to fade and Peter shakes his head. The girl is odd and fanciful.

“You must have been dreaming.”

Jane nods seriously and Peter feels a shudder go up his back. Now that he is close to her, he can feel the tinniest particles of magic surrounding her, magic that by rights should be his. She is sapping him dry like a parasite and being close to her is dangerous. He tries not to look at her face for too long, at the upturned nose and bright green eyes but he knows he will see her in his dreams, haunting him as Wendy does.

As the cottage appears through the trees Peter pauses, watching peripherally as Jane inspects a toadstool. The werewolves are gone and Wendy and Tink must be up by now and noticed his absence. He will hand the girl over and then make them stay for a day somehow before leaving for home. Jane has to stay in this land until the curse is cast. If she is back in London the plan will not work.

“And Wendy…” There are two possibilities. Swept away by the curse, never aging or grow old and die in London by the time he has his heart. He knows which fate he prefers. As Jane breaks a piece of the mushroom off Peter bends down and picks her up in his arms.

“Probably shouldn’t eat that Trouble…”

“Twouble?”

“That’s your name. Don’t you know your name?”

“You’re silly. Want a bit?” she offers the piece of poisonous mushroom to him and he grins.

“Trying to kill me?”

Jane’s face falls and she shakes her head sadly. “No,” she drops the mushroom and before he can stop her, she wraps her arms around his neck, saying sorry. Peter awkwardly pats her back, waiting for her to stop apologising. As dawn approaches the door to the cottage opens and Wendy emerges. She spots Peter and Jane by the well and begins running towards them, grin stretching her face.

“Oh thank god!” she takes Jane out of his arms and kisses her face repeatedly, until the little girl starts to giggle. “Where was she?”

Peter shrugs. “Just some old mansion.” Truth be told he can’t quite remember where he found her…

“You went out at night to get her?” Wendy gazes at him with a strange look: half hope, half reproach. As Jane wriggles to be put down and runs to the well Peter averts his gaze but then looks back as the tension becomes taut.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you did something at expense of yourself. For _her_. Peter I – I want to tell you something, I shouldn’t and you’ll likely forget anyway but – ” she moves forward, bursting to speak but he doesn’t want to hear. Can’t. It has something to do with that odd giddy feeling, like he’s on the edge of a cliff and daring himself to jump. Fear and exhilaration.

He cups her face. “It can wait.” He pulls her into his arms, holding tight and Wendy stiffens before she grabs hold of his back, fisting his shirt. In a day he may never see Wendy again, he knows not where the curse will take her but, with a fierce and brilliant clarity, he knows that he will snuff out stars to see her again.

“I’m sorry for what I did,” he says it so quietly and quickly that Wendy barely has time to process it, drawing back to stare at his face, before he suddenly kisses her. It’s a hard kiss that wants to be gentle, that wants to convey the soft things that he cannot but he’s so full of desperation that his hands shake on her waist and he kisses her until neither can breathe.

Breaking away, she grasps his shirt, staring up at him in wonder. “That felt like goodbye.”

“No, I’ll see you again. Promise that you’ll remember me?”

“I don’t understand, what’s happening?” she asks, half a smile on her face. As she presses her hand to his chest she feels something clicking in a pocket and frowns. Peter tries to grab her hand but she is too quick. She pulls out the beans he had stolen from her as she slept, all but stranding her in the Enchanted Forest.

The hope and fleeting happiness on her face obscures with a jittery anger. “Why take these?”

“I…I can’t remember.” It’s the truth, he can’t recall clearly, but he knows that if she does not have them then she will be unable to go home. Taken by the curse, she will be ageless. He could take her back to the island but some part of him knows that will only end in tragedy. He tries to grab the beans but she moves back, one hand against his chest.

“Why do you always lie to me? Trick me?” she pushes him away as birds suddenly burst through the trees, blocking out the sky for a few moments. Jane stares up in awe as Tink suddenly rushes out of the cottage, her face pale.

“Something is coming!”

Before either can ask what a great billowing cloud appears over the treetops, blocking out the sun. Peter can feel the dark magic that sustains it, that has made it and it makes his hair stand on end. Jane starts to cry, no doubt feeling it too. As the dark purple curse descends on them Peter swears.

“He lied! He said I had another day!” he yells and then rounds on Wendy. “Use a bean!”

But she stands frozen in shock as Jane runs to their side. Peter grabs Wendy’s hand but it is too late. With strange muffled sounds the curse rolls over them, wiping their memories and identities away as it sends them to a land without magic and Peter Pan’s worse nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you guess what his nightmare is? ;)  
> I think one or two more chapters before the end. Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not giving them new names fyi but they are cursed, with no memory of their pasts, their personalities are switched etc.

**Storybrooke, Maine.**

**22nd October, 1983.**

 

As the curse sweeps hundreds of people to another world, it rips away any possibility of happy endings because in Storybrooke there are no endings, only an eternal return to the beginning. One queen savours the lost loves and broken connections of those town folk, believing that it will last forever but she is mistaken.

There is one family granted what the evil queen truly desires…

 

*

 

“Mummy…mummy? Hum… _Billie Jean is not my lover humhumhum_ …mummy? Come on sleepy head.”

Wendy groans and squints at the alarm clock: _6:30_. On cue, the radio clicks on and the weathermen foretells the climate for the day. Wendy looks up at the window and sees rain clouds and the old beech tree swaying in the wind. She sighs. She hates this time of year, so dark and gloomy. Her daughter sits on the carpet, smiling brightly. She doesn’t mind the rain; without rain there would be no puddles to jump in after all.

“Better then you jumping on the bed like a trampoline, isn’t it sweets?”

“Twampoline!” Jane nods and then begins jumping lightly on her feet. She is dressed in a pink leotard, which is unfastened, pale tights and a tutu. She must have dressed herself. Ribbons tangle by her flushed cheeks, keeping her hair off her face. Wendy smiles as she gets out of the empty bed and picks the little girl up.

“You clever girl, did you put those tights on by yourself?”

“Yes! Daddy helped a bit. The wibbons were all slippy, so daddy did it for me.”

“Naughty ribbons. We’ll get some breakfast and then take you to class.”

Wendy puts Jane down and smiles softly as she makes her way down the stairs to the kitchen, twirling and trying to sing _Billie Jean_ along the way. Wendy rakes her fingers through her hair and catches her reflection in the hallway mirror. Dark blonde hair curls messily around her head; she and her daughter look almost identical during the morning. She is happy, as happy as she has ever been but she feels oddly adrift sometimes. She wants to be ambitious, to pursue…something, anything but the desire slips out of her fingers when she thinks she has grasped it.

She never imagined this would be her life. Being a mother and the stability of a normal, calm life was something lucky people had, not her. As a teenager, not so long ago, she just wanted to roam, to go where the next breeze would blow her. That changed when she became pregnant back in London, when she fell in love. Now…now she has a tantalising idea of what she wants to be and to do but it is fleeting. To be carefree, to be _selfish_ and think only of herself is now something that she can only dream. She has to pack those heady days away like pages in a drawer, nice to look at and reminisce but no more to add. She has other drawers worth filling and this time other people to add to it.

The diamond on her finger flashes in the rising sun as she gathers her hair up into a messy bun and follows her daughter down to the kitchen, leaving her fiancé to shower.

 

*

 

As they finish their breakfast and Wendy zips Jane’s lunch bag closed, she hears a commotion from upstairs and pulls a face, making Jane giggle. Wendy, now dressed in jeans and a pink sweater, moves to the bottom of the stairs and looks up.

“Something wrong?”

“What day is it again?” comes his distracted, slightly panicked voice.

“Monday. Why?”

“Shit!”

“Daddy swore,” Jane comments nonchalantly and Wendy clucks her tongue as he comes down the stairs with a briefcase in one hand while struggling to put on his coat. His neatly combed hair shines and his face is clean-shaven but he still looks like something is missing. She feels like that every morning.

“I’m late for work! I can’t find my car keys.”

“Relax, you don’t work on Mondays, the bank is closed.”

“Nope. We’re opening on Mondays now, better for business.” He is a clerk at _Storybrooke Savings and Loans_. A matter she finds tediously, deathly boring but he thrives on it. She thinks he likes the structure of 9 to 5. He is a young man made up of contradictions: focused, methodological and rather milquetoast but also the most scatter brained person she knows. His memory is appalling. The reason she met him in the first place was because he had been lost.

“Well you’re still early. Will you be able to pick us up later?”

“Of course,” he says, straightening his coat. He picks Jane up and kisses her on the head, before leaning over to give Wendy a hasty kiss on the cheek.

“Look daddy, I found a sweetie,” Jane says, pushing a jellybean into his face and he smiles but doesn’t eat it.

“Hmm looks a bit glittery to be a sweet. Give it to mummy,” he instructs but Jane shakes her head and puts the shiny purple bean into her coat pocket, promising not to eat it. He puts her down and she runs into the living room as cartoons flash across the TV screen. As he opens the front door Wendy grabs his loose tie and pulls him to her. She deftly but slowly begins to knot it, eyes never leaving his. The beginnings of a smirk curls his mouth.

“You’re so eager to please but you have nothing to prove. You’re miles better than the other stiffs in that office.”

“I just want to do a good job, make an impression. It’s important to me. I might even get a promotion soon.”

“And you will but just remember to breathe. There, all done,” she straightens the lapels of his coat and leans up to kiss his mouth. They had made love the night before and she can still feel his fingertips brushing over her hip, his mouth against the pulse point under her jaw. She feels a sullen disappointment that he has to go to work and not be with her like usual.

“See you later. Bye-bye Trouble!” he waves at Jane, who is too absorbed in the TV to turn, before dashing through the door.

“Peter. Keys,” she offers them on an extended finger and he grabs them before kissing her mouth hard with a hasty goodbye. Wendy smiles fondly, shaking her head, as he drives away.

 

*

 

He parks the car, making sure to pocket the keys this time. Breaking into his own car for said keys has happened more than Wendy will ever know. He has some pride. 

Rain patters lightly down on him as he walks towards Granny’s Diner, passing Mr Gold who nods his head in greeting. He is a strange, quiet man. Or maybe he just finds his shop unnerving, all those old and forgotten things waiting to be claimed. Where does he even get it? Wendy loves to browse though she is too indecisive to buy. 

Apart from the strange store, he loves Storybrooke. He loves the smallness, the familiarity and predictability. Nothing changes, nothing unexpected ever happens and he is perfectly content. In fact, since they moved to the States he can honestly say he has never been happier. All he has ever wanted was to be comfortable and loved, to one-day build a life for himself but that had not been possible in London.

Here he and Wendy are respected, they are striving to be part of their community, though he knows Wendy finds that difficult. She never had the structure and support of a family in the way he had. She is a wonderful person, kind and generous, but it had taken him a long time to win her trust, for her to open up to him and form a healthy relationship. He always wanted to have a family, to be a father and husband but he never expected it to happen the way it did.

Wendy says he is an old man trapped in a young body, while she is the complete opposite. He knows she is bored and not sure what to do. She looks for work but nothing grabs her. She wants something to come along, sweep her off her feet but he doubts no sweeping will happen in this part of the world. Leaving the UK was the most impulsive thing he has ever done, especially getting on a plane for nine hours. He has a deathly fear of heights. For Wendy it was a step on the path towards adulthood and he knows with each step that she dragged her toes. However, she settled and became more accustomed to their new life, especially as Jane grew older but well, Storybrooke is a far cry from the bustle of London. That city, that island, is like a hazy dream to him now, vague and unreal. This is reality.

Peter watches Ruby put out a sign before the diner, unaware of the approaching Sheriff Graham eyeing her up and down, before he follows them in for his customary coffee and pastry. The mayor eyes him briefly before shaking her head and carries on walking as a flurry of skeleton leaves blow across her path.

 

* 

 

As _Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy_ crackles faintly through old speakers Jane hugs her friends goodbye. Today there is no nursery as she attends three days out of five, but her parents make sure she is never bored. Her week is filled with piano tuition, play dates, pony riding and jujitsu classes from her own mother. They joke that she has a busier social life than they do. As Wendy appears at the door Jane waves goodbye to her ballet teacher, Miss Green. Diminutive, lovely and quick to laugh Miss Green is a nun who also teaches dance at Storybrooke high. Jane thinks she is sad sometimes, for all her smiles, but feels too shy to ask why.

“Hi, I don’t think we’ve met?” A dark haired woman says to Wendy as Jane presses herself against her legs. It is Regina, the town mayor.

“I’m Moira. I haven’t been in town that long,” her mother answers and Jane frowns but says nothing. Regina grins, a very red and white flash of teeth and lips that reminds Jane of a shark. Sharp. She bends down and smiles at Jane and the sharpness is gone.

“Hi! I saw you dance, you’re very good!”

“Thank you,” Jane replies shyly. Regina looks up at Wendy and down again.

“Is your big sister picking you up?”

Jane blinks, confused. “No?”

“I’m her mother,” Wendy replies tiredly and offers a smile to show that there is no hard feelings as Regina apologises. “It’s okay, I get it a lot.” She stares down at Jane, clasping her shoulders. “We had better go!”

As they leave, Regina turns to look at the little girls and boys rushing around with the saddest expression before the door closes, and she is lost to sight.

 

*

 

“Look at you sweaty betty!”

“No I’m not!”

“I’ll have to make sure,” Wendy smiles, her eyes narrowing in mischief and rolls Jane up into her arms and kisses her cheek, making Jane giggle before Wendy places her back on the ground and zips up her coat. They head towards the harbour, the breeze off the sea bracing, before taking a seat to eat their lunch. As Jane pulls out the pickle in her sandwich, her dad always forgets she hates it, she points out to a fishing boat.

“Where does it go?”

“Where? Wherever the fish are I suppose,” Wendy ties her hair back as it moves around in the wind and as she does someone walks up behind her. Jane is about to shout in greeting when her father presses his finger to his lips and with a wicked grin she hardly ever sees he moves up behind Wendy and suddenly tickles her above the hips.

Her mother’s scream makes the circling seagulls rise in a cloud of feathers and loud squawks. Peter laughs, dancing back as Wendy turns.

“You bloody…menace! You know I hate that!” she half moans, half laughs. She squeezes her arms up to her sides and gives a wriggling shudder as he takes a seat beside her, still laughing.

“You’re far too easy.”

“It’s not my fault you’re as light as a shadow. I think you like tormenting me,” she says with a tight, teasing smile and Peter leans over and kisses her mouth with a smacking sound. Wendy pushes him away with a laugh. Jane looks between them happily as they all begin to eat their lunch and then at the other picnic tables around them. All are empty.

“Does this belong to us?” she asks, spooning her yogurt.

“What do you mean?” Peter asks.

“No one else comes here. No families.”

“That’s because they’re smarter than we are,” Wendy says and kicks out at an encroaching seagull, which lands with the rest of its feathery friends along the railing.

“Come on Trouble, eat up your sandwich.” Peter rips the bread apart into easy mouthfuls and then talks quietly to Wendy but Jane can hear.

“We finish early on Mondays so I’ll come home with you.”

“That’s good. How’s Lily?” Wendy asks, casting him a quick hot glance as he clears his throat and takes a bite out of his sandwich.

“Fine.”

“Daddy’s secret admirer,” Jane pipes up and they stare at her, stunned before Wendy starts laughing. Jane knows who Lily is; she’s the young beautiful receptionist who works with her daddy. For some reason her mother enjoys teasing her daddy about the crush this girl has on him.

“Don’t call her that Jane. Imagine if she hears that?” Peter groans and drops his sandwich. Wendy pouts in sympathy and pulls him up to his feet with her.

“I’m only joking. I know it’s awkward, you don’t want to embarrass her and I do like her too.”

“At least you trust me,” he says as they lean on the railing, the seagulls taking to the air.

“Of course. You're mine and as you’ve noticed I don’t have a jealous bone in my body. It’s understandable,” she says, gently trailing her fingers down his cheek before she throws a piece of bread into the air. Jane smiles as the birds swoop down to catch it. She slides off her seat and goes to them and takes the stale bread her mother has brought with her to feed the birds. As the last of it is thrown Jane searches around her pocket for any more and feels something smooth against her fingers. Unthinkingly she draws the glittering bean into her hand and throws it hard into the air. The birds move away, as if knowing it is not for eating, and the bean drops into the water with a plop. Jane watches it sink away and then shrugs. She has more at home.

Peter lifts her up into his shoulders and they walk to the car, their shadows stretching long on the ground as the sun sinks lower in the sky.

 

*

 

As night descends quickly and they put Jane to bed after her bath Wendy sits in the chair beside her daughter. It is her night for storytelling.

“And they lived happily ever after,” Wendy says quietly, shutting the storybook gently. Jane’s eyelashes flutter as she opens her heavy eyelids.

“Who’s Moira?” she asks and Wendy straightens.

“Well I am. Moira is my first name. Wendy is my middle name but I use that instead. I'm not sure what made me say it today...”

“I like it…more stories mummy,” she demands sleepily and Wendy sighs, sitting back. As a child her mind had once been brimming and buzzing with stories. They would explode into her brain like fireworks and she would be swept away with the need to share it. But now it is as if there is a curtain drawn across that part of her mind. The bright commotion, the excitement and new ideas are there, she can feel them but she only catches shadows. As a child she had always wanted to be a writer but along the way that desire faded. She cannot remember what made her stop storytelling, maybe because there had been no one to listen.

“There was a girl who…who was a bird and…” Wendy struggles for the words but none comes. She sighs and realises that Jane is already fast asleep. Wendy slots the storybook away and kisses her daughter goodnight gently on the forehead.

One day the words will come, she is sure.

 

*

 

“I got called her big sister today,” Wendy says, absentmindedly fiddling with her engagement ring as they lie on the sofa together and watch TV. Peter shifts below her and she can feel him humming against her back.

“Sorry. You know I get that too.”

“Yeah I know. I should be used to it by now…” she sighs, drawing her eyes away from the sparkle of the diamond as he kisses the side of her neck. She smiles, resting her head against his shoulder as the show they had been watching ends.

"We should just get married here," she says suddenly and he smiles into her hair.

"I've been thinking the same. Going back to London...what's the point? Our life is here now."

Wendy cranes her head back and he kisses her mouth. "I don't think Jane can wait any longer. I've seen her practicing walking down the hallway, mumbling vows."

They laugh and Wendy lowers her head and for a few minutes they watch the TV before Peter switches it off as the news starts. It's always the same.

“What shall we do tomorrow?”

“Hmm…tomorrow? What about right now?” she wriggles slightly on top of him, crumpling his white shirt, and he tenses before his hands clamp around her hips.

“I wonder…”

“Don’t you dare!” Wendy sucks in a breath, becoming rigid as his fingertips start to dig into her sides. She jumps to her feet, laughing as he follows her up and tries to tickle her. They play fight in silence, trying to keep any laughter or shouts contained but sometimes they burst out. Wendy clamps her hand over his mouth as she pushes him against the wall but he quickly spins her around, wrapping his arms around her waist. He picks her up, she is so much shorter than him, and throws her over his shoulder.

“I win!” he proclaims proudly as he carries her towards their room. Wendy moves her body down, wrapping her legs and arms around him. She purses her lips, looking coy.

“And what _precisely_ have you won?”

“Good point. We haven’t even started yet,” he says and drops her onto the bed. In the dark of the room she sees his grin flash and curl and she feels a crackle of exhilaration. It is not often that Peter is silly, that he lets himself have fun, but when he does it seems to set off something inside her, like electric currents bringing dead things to buzzing life. His very touch seems to tingle.

As rain pitter-patters against the windowpanes and the trees in the back garden sway dangerously, they make love, as quietly as possible which only makes them laugh harder as they try to muffle their pleasure with kisses. Soon she presses her face against his shoulder, breath coming in short sharp bursts until she throws her head back and he kisses the underside of her jaw. The climax that rolls through her is so intense that no scream can escape as her throat tightens and the air around her becomes thin and swelteringly hot. For just a moment, in the span it takes for him to whisper that he loves her, Wendy’s vision swims and the shifting shadows of the trees cast on the ceiling melts away to reveal strange stars in an inky alien sky.

“Did you see that?” she asks, panting for breath as Peter lies on top of her, spent. He rises, inhaling air through his nose and frowns.

“What?”

Wendy looks at the ceiling again and sees only shadows. “It’s nothing,” she answers as he brushes curls of hair away from her sweaty face. She smiles at him tenderly and kisses his mouth. “And I love you too.” She wraps her arms around him as he moves onto his side and shortly after they fall asleep.

 

*

 

As they sleep the curse that sustains itself pulses, like a slow heartbeat, and time circles back to the start. The sunrises, the waitress in red places a sign before the diner, the psychiatrist walks his dog and the lonely pawn shop owner limps to his business. As they do every morning, as they will continue to do for years, like automatons stuck circling a broken clock.

For the next twenty-eight years each day passes in perpetual monotony, and the people there feel an aching longing for something missing that none can name. This changes as a small yellow VW Beetle passes over the town line and fractures appear in the curse, weakening it as Emma Swan brings time, winter and the promise of happy endings in the wake of her car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've done one cursed Storybrooke AU before but not like this. If they can have any life than, in this case, it's going to be the sweetest, domesticated fluff I can manage. And the reason they have a happy life and the others don't is because Rumple knows that it will not last once Emma breaks the curse. There are no happy endings in Storybrooke ;)
> 
> Unless I leave it here...


End file.
